


not in that way

by thedevil_andgod



Series: Songfics Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Oblivious Dean, Pining!Cas, Songfic, teenage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:01:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6925075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevil_andgod/pseuds/thedevil_andgod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>usual disclaimer stuff.. kripke owns spn, castiel and dean and all of that. inspired by sam smith's 'not in that way'.</p>
    </blockquote>





	not in that way

**Author's Note:**

> usual disclaimer stuff.. kripke owns spn, castiel and dean and all of that. inspired by sam smith's 'not in that way'.

_And I hate to say I love you_  
_When it's so hard for me_  
_And I hate to say I want you_  
_When you make it so clear_  
_You don't want me_  
  
_I'd never ask you 'cause deep down I'm certain I know what you'd say_  
_You'd say, "I'm sorry, believe me, I love you but not in that way."_

His mouth goes dry whenever Dean smiles at him from across the room; heart pounding just that little bit quicker at the small acknowledgement. Every day, Castiel would cross the road and use the spare key hidden beneath the mat of his best friend's front door to get in. He'd greet Mary, Dean's mother, and politely decline her offer of breakfast. Every day she'd shake her head fondly, telling him she needed to feed him up, or he'd soon fade away. Every day, Cas would smile and then head up the old, creaking stairs and find his way to Dean's bedroom. It never changed; not the routine, not the bedroom. It was always a mess, clothes thrown haphazardly along the floor, leading up to, but never hanging in, the chestnut wardrobe that took up most of the space. Along the far wall hung tattered AC/DC posters and pin-ups from Playboy magazines- Cas always found it difficult to look at those.

 

Then, there would be Dean, lounging on his bed, PS4 controller in hand, firing his way through some new game. He'd pat the spot on the mattress next to him and Cas would sit, cautiously, as though afraid it would blow him to pieces unexpectedly. Dean would talk, and talk, and talk, and Cas would listen, rarely getting a word in- that was how he liked it. He was a naturally quiet person, unobtrusive, timid, practically invisible. But Dean – Dean was different. He was loud and shining, and conversational; he'd strike up a chat with a chair if he had to. He was wild and spoke with hand gestures, almost walloping Cas across the face a few times by accident. Cas needed Dean. They were opposite sides of the same coin; loud and quiet, bright and dark, cold and warm. He was sure Dean never thought that much about their friendship; they'd grown up together, Cas was simply always there.

 

Dean would tell Cas everything- from what his little brother Sam had done to annoy him that morning, to how many hours he'd stayed up playing the latest version of GTA – 'I'm tellin' ya, Cas, the graphics are ridiculous!' - and then, of course, there would be girls. Dean loved girls. Any girl, every girl, Dean had no preference when it came to the fairer sex. If she was attractive to him, intersting, and willing, that was all he cared about. And, like any other teenage boy, who was the first person Dean would like to tell of his latest conquest? His best friend. His best friend, who also happened to be hopelessly in love with him. Dean didn't know, and as far as Cas was concerned, he never had to tell him. It would be beyond embarrasing- not to mention, to see, hear, feel, the rejection firsthand.. it would just plain hurt too much.

_  
_

 

 _And I hate to say I need you_  
_I'm so reliant_  
_I'm so dependent_  
_I'm such a fool_  
  
_When you're not there,_  
_I find myself singing the blues._  
_Can't bear,_  
_Can't face the truth_

 

Sometimes Cas would bring his guitar over, hanging off his shoulder by the worn leather strap gifted to him by Dean, the birthday after the christmas he recieved the instrument. He'd sit, long, gangly legs crossed, on the floor and tune the strings, strum out a tune. Sometime's he'd even sing. He was shy about his voice, never believing he had an ounce of talent in him- but Dean seemed to enjoy it. Every so often, his friend would pause his game, stretch out on the bed and close his eyes, letting the music carry him away.  
  
_You will never know that feeling  
You will never see through these eyes_

_I'd never ask you 'cause deep down I'm certain I know what you'd say_  
_You'd say, "I'm sorry, believe me, I love you but not in that way._

  
As he picked away at the final few notes, he found his voice shaking and he cleared his throat, embarrassed. His cheeks heated up when he glanced over the way to find Dean leaning on one elbow on his side, one brow lifted, intense green eyes focused accusingly on him. Cas' mouth ran dry, throat constricting painfully- surely Dean wouldn't.. He wouldn't relate the song to him.. Or would he?

 

'Huh.. That's some emotional stuff right there. Whoever she is, Cas, she's really done a number on you.' He give his friend a sympathetic look and turned back to his tv. Cas just smiled, sadly, and thought to himself, _you have no idea._

  
  
_You'd say, "I'm sorry, believe me, I love you but not in that way._

 


End file.
